Patriotic Despite

                I have been fortunate enough to make up for a relatively static first two decades of life with a constant travel in the time since. Journey is my drug, destination my addiction, and I’m lucky enough to have a spouse and children who share them.

                I experienced something unique returning from a summer European venture this year. I had been to Greece in April, and came home to a familiar appreciation of all things Canadian, and a lamenting of the ways in which Canada is inferior to Greece—and outside of the weather, it’s a satisfyingly short list. When you travel, coming home is an experience in itself.

                Summer was a Norway trip, and for me that’s very special. Norway is my ancestral home, and the first country I ever visited outside of the North American continent.

                I have a reputation among my Norwegian and my Canadian friends and relatives as being the Viking guy. I have always been hooked by medieval Norse history, have read all of Snorri’s work, and can reference most of the main kings in order from Heimskringla. You’d think I would have come back from that trip more fired up than ever for all things Viking, all things stereotypically Norse. Not so.

                A month after returning I still find myself missing the good sense of roundabouts, and my vindication that socialism is the only sensible form of democracy is strengthened. Norway is a country capitalistic enough to exploit its oil reserves but progressive enough to save a portion of them for the future, something those of us who live for a little bit more than today wish Albert was capable of.

                But I did not come back preaching the grandeur of Norway, wishing there were some way I could leave Canada behind and hide behind my Nordic last name forever. I love squeeze bottle caviar, but I love Canada more.

                I came home with a passion for my own country. I have always had a historical and cultural interest in Canada—certainly more than your average Canadian, might I say—but spending time with those Norwegians inspired something greater. Everyone there, young or old, passionate or not, knows so much more about their own country, culture, and history and expresses it with much greater pride than we Canadians do. We simply just “aw shucks” our own national tale for fear of sounding too much like Grandpa shouting answers at Front Page Challenge.

                I am a proud Canadian still, despite. Despite our environmental track record, despite our creeping capitalistic values, despite out American-patterned static and wasteful lifestyles. Despite or (barely) elected national government and its oh-so-rotten head. Despite a disunity among 34 million very diverse individuals living in a colossal landmass no sensible person would try to paint with the same regional or cultural brush.

                Nevertheless, I am proud.

                And so when I came home with a few weeks of holiday remaining, I was able to dedicate some of my time to some exploration of the Foothills, of the Crowsnest Pass, of Calgary, in an attempt to soften my relationship with a city I love so dearly despite its being the epicentre of all that could ruin this country.

                I approached this venture as a tourist, like an outsider. I shelved my previous knowledge and set about learning this place from scratch. And in this way I learned so much about us, because I didn’t let my preconceived judgments cloud my understanding. I learned so much about how Calgary grew and the area around fed it.

                I was left excited about this place, and saddened because I think I am in the minority. We Canadians are ignorant of ourselves. We could say that we are less so than our American cousins who have ignored the truth of their own story in the crafting of their myth, but at least in that false story they have a sense of something and a pride.

                I declare that this land is worth such an interest, because it’s only an interest in where we came from that we can learn who we truly are, and in learning who we are can we prevent ourselves from continuing where we’re going. Ignorance of the mass is a powerful tool for its leaders to use against that mass, and for a decade we have been allowing this to happen. If we as Canadians dedicated ourselves to a better understanding of ourselves, the pride would no longer be forced, or relegated to curling and hockey scores.